The Christmas Wish
by Joe King
Summary: Even after ten years, tears fill my eyes as I study the folded, faded paper. I remember his sad, green eyes. I remember inablity to act. I remember the day the picture was drawn. Let me tell you of it. Let me tell you Harry Potter's Christmas Wish.
1. The Christmas Wish

**A/N This is not my style, at all. It' really different, but I like it alright. Please read past the first few paragraphs, because it gets better. It's long and not too interesting at the beginning, I promise, but I manage to develop Mrs. Andrews character! I felt the need to. **

**Anyway, on with the story!**

**The Christmas Wish**

Hello, I would like to tell you a Christmas Story, and before you get all comfortable, snuggled down with your fuzzy blanket and hot chocolate, ready to have your insides fell all fuzzy and warm—grab the tissue box. Well, that may be a little extreme, because while this story is sad, it is not tear worthy unless you were there, unless you saw the difference between the two boys, heard the insults, the quiet pain, saw his face, saw his picture—wait, I am getting ahead of myself. What I mean to say was that this story is no heart-warming, make-you-fell-all-bubbly-inside, cliché Christmas Story. No…it is a story of Christmas and one little boys heart-breaking wish.

Wait? What's that? Oh, who am I? I am Sarah Andrews, and I teach the seconds year students and Surrey Elementary School in Surrey, Great Britain. It really is a wonderful job. There is nothing better than teaching, passing on knowledge to another generation, which will carry all the hopes of the years to come—I once more apologize, but when I talk about my occupation, I tend to get off track. As I was saying, I am Sarah Andrews, known as Mrs. Andrew to my students. I am now around 57-years-old, and hoping to retire by 65. But the story I am about to tell takes place when I was younger…about ten years ago, I believe.

It was nearing Christmas, and that was very apparent, and not only in the red-and-green decoration hanging about the room, the snowflakes—made by my students, of course—hanging from the ceiling, and the little Christmas Tree in the corner of the room. The students whispers and faces were the dead give away. All of them were far too excited for it to by any other time of year.

I clearly remember the day. It was the last day of school before break started—actually, that is the main of the story, but perhaps it is best to start the day before.

The class had just come in from recess; they were all rosy cheeked and runny nosed, but grinning and laughing. It was very cold out, and snow had just begun to fall again. A perfect Holiday Day, in my opinion. And the children seemed to think so, too. But then again, what day to a child isn't a good reason to start to celebrate Christmas? Children are the ones among us who truly celebrate Christmas, and not because of the gifts, though they were a definite attraction to holiday.

I remember smiling as I heard the children talking about what they wanted for Christmas this year, shaking my head slightly at some of their outrageous wished. Susie Peckerton had wanted an elephant, I believe. But she was a very creative young child, one of the best story tellers we had.

"Please hang up your coats!" I remember calling, watching as a chubby young boy dropped his coat on the floor, not even bothering to try to hang it up. I sighed. He was a problem child, quite the little bully. I walked over toward him, once again speaking to the class, though I directed the comment toward the young boy. "Your coats go on the hangers, class," I said again, hoping that he would go back and hang his up. Of course, being the young man he was, he didn't. In fact, not only did he not hang up his coat, he pushed one of the other students towards it and told him to hang up the coat. I remember his words quite clearly, as I was stunned at the time that they could come so casually—so cruelly—from the mouth of a 7-year-old.

"Hang it up, freak!" he'd said.

"Mr. Dursley!" I said sharply, giving him a hard look as I walked over right next to him. Students would not behave like that, not in my classroom. "Is that your coat on the floor?" I knew it was.

"Yes?" he said, shrugging. A few of the boys around him—bullies, all—chuckled. I felt my lips thinning, but reminded myself that these were young boys, just children.

"Didn't you hear me tell the class to hang their coats up?" I asked, once again knowing that he had.

"Yeah, I did," he said disrespectfully, once again shrugging. He looked at me, clearly saying, 'And you're point?'

"Then why didn't you?" I asked him, not really expecting an answer. The one I got surprised me.

"I did—he knocked it down," he said, pointing at the boy he had pushed. I had to blink a few times, realizing that he who he was pointing at. He was trying to blame it all on his cousin. I knew that Harry Potter hadn't knocked down the coat. I had been watching. The young Potter boy had hung his coat up quietly, coming in from recess last and all alone. He had not knocked down the coat.

"Your cousin knocked it down?" I asked again, giving Dudley a chance to redeem himself. I knew I didn't sound as if I'd believed him.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Dudley Dursley said again. And once again, his shoulders rose in a hug of indifference.

He was lying outright to a teacher! I wouldn't stand for this. After all, these were the years to teach them not to do things such as this, and I planned on doing just this.

"Mr. Potter, did you knock down your cousins coat?" I asked him kindly. I felt bad putting him in this position. Now, if I had been shocked at Dudley Dursely's excuse, I was more shocked at Harry Potter's answer.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," the young Potter boy said quietly, quite the opposite of his louder and disrespectful cousin. He didn't look up at me, and it was then that I noticed how pale and thin he was, compared to his robust and over-weight cousin. Harry lived with the Dursley's, I was pretty sure. So why did he look so…painfully thin and uncared for and his cousin looked—and acted—spoiled rotten? Alas, that was not the issue at hand. I had to deal with Dudley lying about the coat.

I was about to turn to Dudley and ask him why he had lied when Harry's answer suddenly clicked in my mind. Yes? But I had been watching…he hadn't done anything of the sort.

"Mr. Potter…did you hear me? I asked if you knocked down you cousins coat," I said, once again kindly, and watched as the young, sad-looking boy glanced at is older cousin and flinched. I also saw the look of triumph in his cousin's face, though I didn't know what it was about.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he said, his young voice barely a whisper. I was standing right over him and I barely heard him.

I was beginning to get an odd feeling in my stomach, thinking of everything I had seen in this young boy. His clothes were far too big, his glasses taped, his school lunch far too small for a boy his age, his eyes sad. And now, his voice was fearful. Now that I thought about it, his voice was fearful whenever he talked, and most especially when asking a question or talking to his cousin. I was beginning to wonder exactly what his home life was like, and my thoughts were none to pleasant. But I had an issue here and now to deal with, I could deal with the Dursley's later.

"Are you sure, Harry?" I asked again, kneeling down to see his face. He avoided my eyes, but I still saw the fear in them.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrew," he replied again, once more in his quiet, timid voice.

I sighed. There was nothing I could do. He was admitting it, even though I knew he had done nothing.

"Alright then. Harry, hang up your cousins coat," I said heavily, and my eyes narrowed slightly as Dudley smirked at Harry. "And Mr. Dursley, don't call people names!" My voice was rather sharp when speaking to the older of the two boys.

That day went on, but I watched Harry throughout it. He did his work quickly and efficiently, and waited when he was done, staring at his desk, looking neither left, nor right, nor up. Just at his desk. His left leg would swing nervously, but he would suddenly stop, glancing around with wide eyes before realizing what he was doing and looking back down again. He never engaged the other kids, and I noticed that Dudley kept giving him mean looks. Harry would always pale when he saw them, and Dudley would smirk.

I was almost relieved when the students when home for the day, but I was also worried. I paid more attention to the parents picking up their children that day than I had before, and I what I saw only added to my worry.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked like your average couple, except for the very obvious weight difference. Mr. Dursley was very fat, and I could see where his son got it from. Mrs. Dursley was thin, but not painfully so, unlike her nephew in his too-large lothes. When they picked up their two students, I watched surreptitiously.

"Dinky Duddems! How was your day!" Mrs. Dursley said, hugging her son and beaming down at him as he grinned at her. The father was standing in the background, also smiling proudly. The other young child—the sad Harry Potter—was standing slightly apart from the group, looking at the ground and holding the sack that served as his backpack. I had never noticed that before, the fact that Harry didn't have a backpack.

"Okay…but he got me in trouble!" he said, pointing at Harry. I smiled, thinking that at leas the truth would come out here and Dudley would get scolded for lying to a teacher. Sadly, this didn't happen.

"Did he? Oh, my poor boy!" Mrs. Dursley said, hugging Dudley and giving her nephew a cold, hard, angry look. He flinched—physically flinched.

"Boy…" Mr. Dursley said threateningly, his glance toward the young boy anything but cold. It was blazing, and I felt my heart pick up speed in fear for my young pupil.

Harry seemed to shrink in upon himself, slowly raising his eyes to his uncles face before dropping them again, clearly afraid. I wanted to close my eyes, knowing that there was nothing I could do. Favoritism and dislike don't mean anything to the courts. However, my eyes remained open, determined to feel a bit of the pain my student felt.

Mr. Dursley grabbed Harry Potter by his arm. I could tell the grip was painful from where I was standing, but Harry didn't make a sound. He just bit his lip and allowed his uncle to drag him to the car. I watched as Mrs. Dursley grabbed her sons backpack and followed, still talking about how unfair it was for her Dudders.

As soon as they left, I finally closed my eyes. I knew that to anyone else it looked normal. It looked like a man giving his son a talking to for being bad at school. But I had begun to put two-and-two together. I knew there was more to it than that, or at least I was sure there was. But I knew that there truly was nothing I could do. They may dislike him, punish him more harshly than their son, and play favorites…but that is not abuse. That's not something I can stop. After all, if anyone asked, Harry had admitted to being naughty in class, knocking down his cousins coat. The head of the house had the right to give him a talking to.

I shook my head and went back to my desk, putting my head into my hands. I sighed, knowing that even if I was right, that the courts wouldn't do anything about it. Favoritism is not reason enough to remove a child from a home. Not harmful enough, according to the law. I almost snorted, and would've it wasn't so sad. Not harmful enough? That could leave mental and emotional scars that will never go away…

I almost cried, but I had work to do. I could not dwell on this, no matter how much I wanted to. I could not think of unloved and unwanted children, no matter how much I wished I could help…

"Sarah, you're not superwoman…you can't save everyone…" I told myself firmly—though not half as firmly as I wished. With that, I started to grade the spelling tests, thinking of the Christmas party that would be tomorrow and trying to keep my mind off of a pair of tragic green eyes…

The next day, I was laughing along with the kids as we played Christmas games. The last day party was always so much fun. I almost forgot about Harry and his sad little eyes, until I noticed him standing apart from the others. I sighed, but knew that I could do nothing about that bit. He truly was shy, and that might have nothing to do with non-legal neglect. But then again, it could be the real reason.

I noticed that he seemed to stock up on the chips and candy, glancing at Dudley every so often as he ate them quickly. I felt my heart clench…I feared for why he was so thin…Was it more than favoritism? Was it true, court-bonified, reason-to-remove neglect? I didn't know whether to wish it was or not…

I noticed the way he didn't really take part in the gift exchance, at least not the way the other students did. He didn't fight for a gift, nor did he seem too interest in what happened to his. I'm not even sure he knew what was in it…I also his eyes light up and quickly dim at the Teddy Bear he received, especially when his cousin patted the bears head. I saw his cousin mouth the words "mine soon" to Harry, and had a feeling that the bear was only his during school. A child without even a backpack wasn't going to have a Teddy bear. What else didn't he own? I didn't even want to think about it…

We had one more activity to do as a class.

"Children! Grab a piece of paper and a box of crayons!" I said, and the children hurried to obey, all chatting excitedly. Except Harry. He hung back until all the others had grabbed theirs and then grabbed what was left, the dreaded almost-empty box. He was once again alone.

"Okay, class…I want you write something at the top of the paper. Write down what I write," I said, turning to the board. I wrote a short sentence. _What I wish for Christmas is…_ "Do you have that?" I asked after a few minutes of the children writing it down. "Good. Now, I want you to draw me a picture. I want you to draw me want you really want for Christmas. A Barbie, a toy truck, an elephant…" I said, smiling at Sarah. These pictures should be fun. Children's wishes were so carefree and happy.

Silence stretched, except for the sound of crayon on paper. I watched from the front of the classroom as my students coloured, smiling. But my smile fell when my gaze landed on Harry. It wasn't that he wasn't doing his work, because he was. He was just sitting on the edge of his seat, squirming as if in pain. I closed my eyes again, sure that his uncle had spanked him much harder than natural for getting Dudley in trouble. I had trouble reigning in my anger. This was a student of mine, and someone was hurting him. That I couldn't allow, I wouldn't allow it—but I had to. It had been a spanking, I was sure, for getting disobeying a teacher. Spanking was legal. I sighed, but got up to talk to Harry anyway. I had to ask.

"Hey, Harry," I said, quietly, after commenting on the good job a few other were doing. Harry placed his small hands over his picture, making sure I couldn't see it.

"Hi, Mrs. Andrews," he said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes.

"I'm sure your doing a really good drawing," I told him, smiling. He didn't glance up. "Harry, can I ask you a question?" My heart was beginning to pound. I was nervous, not knowing how to react if he answered yes. I cared for this little boy. He was one of my favorite students, sweet, shy, and kind. Very creative, almost as creative as Sarah. My heart seemed drawn toward him. Maybe it was just his sad eyes….

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he replied. He was always polite. I don't think there was one time when he responded without calling me Mrs. Andrews. It made my heart warm to see such a well-behaved young boy, but heavy now that I thought I knew the reason.

"Does your uncle….ever hit you?" I asked quietly, making sure no other students heard me. For once, Harry met my eyes. His emerald orbs were wide and fear-filled, and I knew there was no way I was going to get an honest answer. My heart clenched, knowing his response before he gave it.

"No, Mrs. Andrews!" he said, and his voice was as quiet as ever. I could've sighed, but I didn't. I knew that he probably had, but I also knew Harry wouldn't say.

"Are you sure?" I asked, trying to keep hope out of my voice. I wanted him to say yes, as horrible as that sounds, so I could get him away from there. But I knew he wouldn't, I knew…but I had to try.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he said, shaking his head.

"Alright, Harry. Keep colouring," I said, my heart heavy. I walked away slowly, buy my glance kept shifting to the young boy. He seemed to be trembling in his seat, his thin form shaking as he coloured his picture.

I looked at his cousin once, and noticed a calculating look in his eyes as he stared from me to Harry. It was slightly sadistsic, and my heart clenched. I knew that break would not be happy for Harry. But I wondered if anytime was happy for Harry?

I wondered why anyone had to go through this?

I wondered why there were cruel people in the world?

I wondered why I was stuck watching his sad, green eyes, and not be able to do anything to make them happy?

I wondered—and the bell rand, signaling the end of class.

"Students, place your pictures on my desk! Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas!" I called as they left. For once, Harry didn't hand back. He shot me one terrified look, and left the classroom. I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched, out the window, as he and Dudley were picked up. I watched Dudley telling something to his parents, pointing at Harry. I watched Mr. Dursley's face cloud with anger. I watched as he grabbed Harry's arm again, in his strong grip. I watched as Harry's face twisted in pain. I watched as they drove off, taking a young chilled—only 7-years-old—to a home that made his eyes hopeless and sad. I watched, and was able to do nothing. Merry Christmas, indeed.

I walked slowly back to my desk, and froze, looking at the pictured piled on it. Glancing out the window in time to see one last glimpse of the Dursley's car, I shuffled through the pictures, trying to find Harry's. Harry was a talented young artist. But it wasn't a picture I found, it was a note. A note that broke my heart.

_Dear Mommy and Daddy,_

_I love you. I miss you. Where are you? Can Santa bring you for Christmas? _

_Do you love me? Does anybode love me?_

_Harry_

I dropped the letter, tears spilling down.

"Oh, Harry…" I said, glancing down. I froze again, and leaned down. The page had flipped when I dropped it. On the back of the letter was his picture. I couldn't really see it to clearly, so I wiped the rest of the tears from eyes and brought the image into focus.

My eyes filled with tears again when I did, my hand going to my mouth as they spilled over.

On the page, drawn in red, black, green, orange, and pencil were three people.

There were three people in the picture, all wearing what appeared to be dresses…or robes of some sort.

On the left was a man, with messy black Harry and brown eyes. He was smiling, a very large grin. I could almost swear that Harry had been trying to draw him laughing. He looked something like Harry, in a drawn way. I knew that this was Harry's version of his father.

There was a woman, with long orange hair and eyes that were green, like Harry. She seemed to be smiling and laughing, just like the man. This must be Harry's mother.

In the middle was a young boy, with messy black hair and green eyes. This was where Harry had decided to draw himself. Both of his parents were holding his hands.

Behind them all, in red, was a huge heart.

There was writing at the top, next _What I want for Christmas is…_ Harry had finished the sentence. And it broke my hear.

His sentence, Harry's Christmas wish, was so simple, but so sad. It was worse seeing in a child's handwriting.

_What I wish for Christmas is… is my mommy and daddy. What I wish for Christmas is…someone to love me. _

And that is the end of my story. I cannot tell you what happened to Harry Potter, because he moved on, to a different class, with his cousin. I remember seeing him in the halls, seeing the same pain-filled green eyes. I never knew if he got his Christmas wish, but I hope did. I truly do.

Now I have told you. I wonder, what is it you wish for for Christmas? A Barbie, a toy truck, and elephant…?

As for me, what I wish for, every year, as I fold up the faded and creased drawing done for me 7-year-old Harry Potter, is for someone to love the unloved children of the world.

What I wish for is for Harry's wish to come true, and not just for him. I wish it for every child like him.

And maybe, just maybe…someday our wished will come true, mine and Harry's. Maybe, someday, it will be more than just a Christmas wish.

**A/N Wow…corny ending. Weird, too. Anyway… Any questions, ask me. Tell me what you think, whatever it is. I wrote this in about half-an-hour, by the way, at 1:25 in the morning on the 26****th**** of December, so I'm out of it. Sorry if it's bad…plot bunny kept me awake and I had to free it or go insane.**

**Hoe you managed to enjoy it.**

**Please review.**

**Thanks for reading. **


	2. The Birds

**A/N: **If you haven't read chapter 1, A Christmas Wish, go back and read it. It's not really a Christmas story and it's important to this one.

Also, he remembers all of this stuff in the way we remember our younger years. They're more impressions to him than facts. The sort of stuff he saw in dreams. He "remembers" a big black dog and Sirius, but he doesn't put the two together. He more or less remembers the sensation of being licked and the feel of fur, the color black. The little images that can create a larger image. They're not real memories, but impressions of memories, like most people have from their younger years.

Thanks for reading!

The Birds

By Joe King

Why, hello again! I didn't expect you back. I'm assuming you want to know more about Harry? I'll tell you, not gladly (because I find it impossible to be glad when telling his story), but willingly. People need to know.

Hmm…what's another incident that I can tell you…There are so many of them, it's hard to choose which one to tell. Aha! I've got one. Ready? Well, I'll just start then.

It was just getting into Summer, so the air conditioner was buzzing in my room as my twenty-some students rushed about, all talking loudly and laughing. The walls, which had earlier been covered in artwork, were now bare as students took there drawings down, ready to take them home and show proud parents. The mood of excitement in the classroom was contagious, and I couldn't help but laugh along with my students, though I felt a little sad as well. Every teacher does on the last day of school, for their class will move onward and cease to be their class. But the students were, as ever, oblivious to what I was feeling. They were all so happy and joyful. As always, my gaze scanned the classroom for a head of messy black hair. I watched him in a way I didn't watch my other students and had ever since the incident with the Christmas drawing. I wasn't surprised to find him sitting alone. If there was one thing I had learned from watching him, it was that he was never to be found with another child, which was heart-breaking in and of itself. Today, however, he wasn't at his desk, but rather sitting on the bench in front of the back window, looking outside with his leg swinging like a pendulum. He looked relaxed, but I noticed he was clutching his pictures tightly.

I started moving towards him, as if my feet were pulled toward the sad, solitary figure on their own accord. Going towards him had become a second nature to me, just to check on him and offer a small smile. It was all I planned on doing today, as well, though my mind and heart were screaming for me to intervene and save him. I wished I could, and I know you wish that with me. Anyone who has a heart would.

"Hello, Harry," I said with a small smile, scooting down next to him on the window seat.

" 'Lo, Mrs. Andrews," he said, nodding in my direction respectfully before returning his gaze outside. I glanced to see what he was looking at, and saw a flock of birds pecking at the new grass seed that had just been thrown down.

"Watching the birds?" I asked him pleasantly. "I like to watch them, too. Such marvelous creatures, aren't they?"

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he replied. I worked to keep my smile from faltering. It had taken time to get back to even this amount between us. After that day I questioned him about his uncle, he had avoided me like the plague. Ever since Christmas, he'd eye me suspiciously whenever I tried to hold a conversation—yet he still managed to act as respectful as could be. It broke my heart, and only the knowledge of what he faced kept me trying to make a difference, however small. Every day he faced his uncle, and every day I struggled to stop it. I was struggling to regain his trust, and that made every conversation where he didn't look at me as if I were the enemy—every conversation like this one—a little victory. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

Today would be a little different, however. Today it was slightly more urgent that I get him to open up or at least trust me a little. Today was most likely going to be my last chance to get him to talk, and while I prayed that I would somehow be able to interact with him while he was in other classes, I knew it was unlikely. If he didn't open up to me today, it was over—not that I would quit. No, I would never quit, not on Harry, not on any child.

Looking at his profile, I struggled to keep myself from sighing. His cheekbones were too prominent due to the lack of fat on his cheeks. Not overly so, but I noticed because I knew what I was looking for.

He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, and I knew he was afraid I would ask again. I knew he was afraid of telling me something that would give away the truth. I knew he was afraid of his uncle's reaction. Therefore, the small child was afraid of me. I had had to struggle to get him to trust me again, and I knew I would have to struggle to get him to trust me more, at least if I ever had a hope of getting him out of his relatives clutches. I was beginning to despair of that ever happening, but that didn't mean I would stop. I would work until it did or until he graduated, in whatever way I could. And if I failed with him, I would keep my eye out for children like him and try to help them, too. Still, my heart yearned to help this hurting child.

"Do you know what sort of bird that is Harry?" I asked him, nodding towards the birds who were still pecking at the ground. It was a safe topic. One that would help him relax around me. I only hoped I could get him relaxed enough.

"No, ma'am," he said, shaking shaggy black head, his green eyes still fixed on the birds.

"They're sparrows, Harry," I told him. "Do you see that little one? Right there?" I asked him, pointing at a smaller sparrow. He leaned forward eagerly and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am. He's really little."

"Yes, he is. Very small. I think he's still a baby sparrow, don't you?" I inquired of the young boy, smiling at his eagerness. He was such a sweet child, so kind and caring. How anyone could hurt him was beyond me. One look into his bright green eyes and I melted.

"Yeah…I think he is a baby sparrow, ma'am," Harry replied, watching the little sparrow more closely. As he leaned more towards the window, I studied him more closely, knowing he was far too absorbed in bird watching to notice.

His hair was a little longer than it had been at Christmas, though just a short amount. I wondered at that. I'd thought I had heard his aunt mentioning his need for a haircut day as she picked him up. I was sure she'd get him one, too. Something about her expression when she looked at him told me she didn't approve of his messy appearance. Of course, most of it was her fault. If she and her fat husband would buy their nephew some decent clothes, he could look better. He'd probably get picked on less, too, and be a little happier. After all…he'd feel a little less hated. He'd be being taken care of, and that could do wonders for a child who'd felt neglect. I'd often felt the urge to pick up a little boys jacked or shirt when I was shopping, knowing that the green color would look perfect on the adorable, tragic little second-year. It would bring out his eyes. Maybe then someone other than I would notice the pain hidden in their depths. Maybe someone else would make the connection. Maybe someone who could do something, who could save Harry. But I never did. It wouldn't have been appropriate for me to do so. I knew his aunt and uncle wouldn't like it. They probably thought he didn't deserve such privileges as new things every once in a while—the idiots.

Looking at him, I noticed a slight smile on his face. It was small, but it was genuine. One thing I had learned about Harry was that he didn't smile very often, but when he did, he lit up the room. His smile was always shy and small, but it was the most adorable smile I have ever seen, even until this day. Harry always looked at the ground when he grinned, as if he were doing something wrong. I wished he wouldn't. I liked to see his smile. It showed that he was overcoming whatever he went through at home. It showed that was still young, that he still had a spirit that could laugh. I loved it when he smiled. It showed me that hope was not lost. As long as he smiled, something could be done. As long as he smiled, it wasn't too late.

We sat in silence for a while, he just watching the birds and I just watching him. I kept an ear out to the classroom and had to leave when Dudley started bullying one of the smaller students. I wasn't too surprised.

I don't know how the Dursley's can favor their son over Harry. Harry is sweet and innocent. Dudley is a terror.

"Mr. Dursley, go sit down at you desk and stay there until I tell you to get up. If you get up before I tell you, I'll be calling your parents," I warned him. He just smirked at me, and I almost scowled. I knew his parents wouldn't do anything about it.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, before sauntering over to his desk with his little gang following. I shook my head in exasperation as I watched them.

Glancing back towards the window, I saw that Harry was still sitting there, but this time he was looking at his pictures, studying the images. I thought I knew why. They were the only pictures he had of his parents, and even if he had drawn them, he would cherish them.

Sitting down next to him, I asked him to show me his pictures. "You're such a good artist, Harry," I informed him with a smile as he shyly handed over the drawing. They really were rather good. I didn't think he'd ever be a great artist, but they were okay. "What's this one of?" I asked, with a small smile at the picture of his father and what appeared to be a big black dog.

"My daddy and a dog, ma'am," he said quietly, studying his own artwork intently, as if by looking at it he could make it real.

"Do you know the dogs name?" I asked him brightly. The dog didn't have a collar, but Harry was young. I didn't really expect him to think of things like that.

"No, not really, ma'am," he said.

"Why don't you name it, then?" I asked him.

"I don't think I want to, ma'am. If it's a real dog, I wouldn't want to give it the wrong name," he explained. I wanted to smile at the childlike logic. He really was just the sweetest thing.

"That makes sense," I informed him. "What's this one of?" I asked, pointing at a picture of another man with black hair, but he didn't have brown eyes like the one of Harry's father. Instead, this man had blue eyes.

"I don't know…I just dream of him sometimes, ma'am. I don't remember who he is, though. He always just laughs in my dreams, ma'am," Harry told me, his brow furrowed in concentration. I could tell he really wanted to know who this man was. I couldn't blame him. If Harry was dreaming about him, he'd probably been important in Harry's younger years. I wondered where this man was, if he was dead as well. I wondered if he wondered how Harry was treated.

"Oh. It seems he was a happy man, then, if he was laughing," I said, and Harry just nodded. Then I noticed a funny picture. It was a very small room with a cot in it and upside down stairs for the ceiling. It was a very odd little picture. But what was odder was the fact that the bed had a teddy bear—albeit one that was falling apart—on it. Why would Harry draw something like this? What was it, even?

"What's this of?" I asked him curiously, turning it to see if it looked better the other way. But no, it definitely went at the angle it was at. What in the world was it?

"The cupboard under the stairs," he answered, a little apprehensively, but I didn't really notice. I was too busy studying the picture.

"Oh…is this where your aunt and uncle store things they don't want?" I asked him. I look up to see him studying the picture with sad eyes.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he said after a while, and I got a horrible suspicion. I couldn't ask him about it, however, or else he would close off again. But if those relatives of his were keeping him in a cupboard…I looked down at the sorry picture and I almost growled.

I glanced back up at Harry and noticed that he was looking out the window. I sat down next to him again, and he didn't even look up at me. He was staring at the sky now, and I looked outside to see that the birds had flown away.

Suddenly, he whispered a question to me, startling me out of my musings. He was always so silent. Looking at the little I could see of his face again, I noticed a blush creeping along his cheeks. He probably didn't notice, but he was biting his lip. He was afraid. I almost sighed again. How could you make a child afraid to ask a question? Children were so naturally curious. Their wonder at the world is one of their best qualities, at least in my opinion.

"Hmmm?" I said gently, trying to make sure he knew that I wasn't angry at him for voicing his thoughts.

He swallowed, and asked the question again. "Do…do birds have families?" he asked quietly, not looking at me. I strained to hear the rest of the question, for he was now talking almost too quietly to here. "Do…do…do birds love each other?" he asked me, staring out the birds with a wistful look on his face. "They look like family." He pointed at a young robin who was standing near a larger robin.

My heart broke for him. One look at his sad face, and I felt like crying. There was such emotion there…pain, longing, and even hope.

"Yes…I'm sure they do. Everyone has someone who loves them, Harry," I told him gently, watching him for his reaction. He got a sad little smile on his face.

"Everyone has someone who loves them, Harry," I repeated. "They don't have to be family to love you. In fact…they don't have to be related to be family. All they have to do is love. That's it," I told him, searching his face again. He finally turned to look at me, and I saw the confusion in his eyes. I saw the hurt. The trust. I also saw that he was torn, trying to decide whether or not to ask me another question. I just sat in silence, letting him come to it on his own. It was the best way.

"What…what if a bird isn't loved by any other bird?" he asked, cocking his head at me. "What if a little bird…isn't…well…isn't loved? What does that mean?" he asked me. I knew he was talking of himself.

"Every bird has someone who loves them, Harry. Even if a sparrow isn't loved by sparrows, a robin might love him," I said that, knowing that it might not be true to birds, but we weren't talking of birds. If I didn't get him to open up to me about his uncle, I would at least convince him of this. Everyone had someone who loves them. He needed to know this, and this was one lesson I wanted to make sure I taught him. "Just like every person has someone who loves them, even if they're not family," I said quietly, but firmly.

"Not everyone, ma'am," he said quietly, so quietly that I'm sure I wasn't really meant to hear.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, to reign in both tears and anger. I wanted to cry for everything Harry was going through. Every child deserves to be loved. I also wanted to strangle the Dursley's. It was their fault Harry thought no one loved him. They deserved to be shot for destroying a little boy like this—even if Harry was amazingly strong and wasn't being destroyed. Just the fact that they could make a little boy—any little boy, but especially one as loving as Harry—feel unloved proves that they deserve to be punished severely.

He looked at me, his big green eyes questioning. I could see his internal debate. He still didn't trust me, not fully. I don't think he was capable of trusting anyone fully at this point, but he was struggling with exactly how much he trusted me. It caused my heart to stir with hope. By avoiding the topic, I might get him to open up. I prayed it was so.

"If you're an orphan in an orphanage, are you still loved, ma'am?" he asked quietly. Once again, I knew the question was about him. Even though he wasn't in an orphanage, he felt as unloved—if not more so—than a child who was in one. There were some awful orphanages out there, but there were some really good ones, too. Harry might have been better off in an orphanage. That in and of itself is enough to make a person angry. He has family, but he'd be better off without them.

"Yes, Harry. You're still loved. There is always someone who loves you, even if you don't know it. Teachers, for instance. I love all my students dearly. You're all very special to me," I said, looking at him seriously.

He started and stared into my eyes, trying to discover if this was some sort of cruel joke. He wasn't sure that someone could love him. He studied my face, trying to read my expression, searching for the lie. I could tell when he realized that there was no lie. I was telling the truth. The happily stunned expression on his face made my heart sing. I don't think I'd ever seen him that happy.

"Someone…someone loves me?" he whispered, and from the lack of 'ma'am', I knew he wasn't aware he was talking out loud. I think he was in a mild form of shock. Love is something he had stopped expecting, something he had, in fact, stopped truly hoping for. He could hope for kindness, he could hope for friendship, he could hope for tolerance—but love? That was a fantasy. That was for children with parents, not for little boys who had to grow up aunts and uncles who didn't want them. But now…now it was for him.

"Yes, Harry…I do love you," I said quietly, and I smiled at the look of awe on his face.

"Really?" he asked again, a bit breathlessly.

I could tell he thought that this was the best thing in the world. This was his dream. This was his wish. What I wish for Christmas is…someone to love me. And now, he was getting it. He wasn't getting his mummy and daddy. He wasn't getting away from his aunt and uncle's. He wasn't getting into a better situation. He wasn't getting a better life. But he was getting love, and—looking at his little face, aglow with happiness—I knew that this was the best thing I could do for him. This was what he needed. This was something I could do. I felt determination swell within me. If I couldn't have him removed from that horrid house, I could do this. If I couldn't make sure the people he lived with got what they deserved, at least I could make sure he knew what love felt like. At least I could fulfill his wish.

"Yes, really. I really, really do love you, Harry," I told him, looking him in the eye to make sure he wouldn't doubt me. My voice was strong and steady. "Never doubt that you are loved Harry. Everyone has someone who loves them—even you," I told him. His bright green eyes filled with tears. Right then, the bell rang and the rest of the children went outside for break, but Harry stayed inside, looking at me.

Suddenly, Harry threw his arms around me and hugged me around the middle, tightly, letting his tears soak into my shirt. I quickly wrapped him in a hug as well, pulling him close.

"It's okay, Harry. It's okay. I love you," I told him, over and over again as he cried. "I love you," I whispered, trying to make sure he would always remember that.

As he calmed down, he hugged me closer, and leaned up towards my ear. "I love you, too, Mrs. Andrews," he said, his voice a little husky from the tears. I just squeezed him tighter.

"I love you so much, Harry…and you know what else? I'll never stop loving you," I told him as I held him on that windowsill.

And you know what? I haven't. To this day, I love that sweet little boy. I worry about where he is. I worry if he's eating enough or if he's still painfully thin. I worry if he dresses warmly enough. I worry if he found a family. I worry if he's found love.

And I worry if he's forgotten that he always has someone who loves. Because, no matter what, I always will love Harry Potter.

A/N Wow…even cornier than A Christmas Wish. But again, I like it. It's different, but I wanted to show that even if she doesn't get Harry out of there, she tries to do all she can for him. She tries to help him fulfill his wish. It really is the next best thing, or maybe even the best thing. He could get out of the Dursley's abusive home (and I don't think they beat him nightly or anything. They were slightly abusive, as they starve him and his aunt swung a pot at his head. His uncle might have beaten him once or twice, but I don't think it was a regular thing. And I'm not trying to undermine that. It's all horrible). But he could be placed in a home without love still, and think what that would mean for our Harry? You can be cared for physically and neglected emotionally, and I almost think that emotional is more damaging. You don't have to agree. I just wanted to say that.

Once again, if you or a friend have gone/are going through anything like this and need help or prayer, fell free to PM me. I know what this sort of thing is like. Two of my closest friends went through situations like this (though their homes were majorly abusive). If you need help, tell someone. Get yourself out of the situation. You deserve better. If you have a friend, tell. Better to have an angry, living friend than a dead one.

You're never alone. Just remember that. And do remember that there is always someone who loves you.

_**A Christmas Miracle**_

_**By Joe King**_

**Okay...I know that this is borderline breaking the rules, and I apologize. But I realized that posting the sequel in a different story is not good for those who have alerted this story. Therefore, I will post a note and let everyone know that the sequel (where Harry meets up with Mrs. Andrews) is posted, but not in this vein. This is One-shot chain is only for times when Harry is a child. There won't be that many of them, but there will most likely be more. This is a shameless plug, but I know that everyone was requesting a meeting between the two and so I delivered. If you want to read the sequel, go to my page and read it.**

**SEQUEL POSTED!  
SEQUEL POSTED!  
SEQUEL POSTED!**

**(see above for details)**


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